


tell the sky (don't fall on me)

by raven_aorla



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Assertive Sub Oliver, Blindfolds, Breathplay, Buried Alive, Canon-typical Minor Character Death, Enthusiastic Consent, Fix-It, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Nervous Dom Mike, Oral Sex, Other Avatars Mentioned, Porn with Feelings, Tenderness, Terminal Velocity, The Buried Alive Bit is the Only Nonconsensual Bit, Vertigo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29080560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: Mike Crew accidentally includes another avatar in a batch of victims. Even though Oliver Banks is unharmed, Mike feels a need to apologize. Oliver has some ideas. A beautiful friendship-with-benefits is born.
Relationships: Oliver Banks/Michael "Mike" Crew
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From "Fall on Me" by REM
> 
> _There's a problem, feathers, iron  
>  Bargain buildings, weights and pulleys  
> Feathers hit the ground before the weight can leave the air  
> Buy the sky and sell the sky and tell the sky and tell the sky  
> Don't fall on me (what is it up in the air for?) (it's gonna fall)_

Mike Crew tried to be polite to servants of other Powers. Part of it was just good sense, and other part was the need to stay in Simon Fairchild’s favor. Simon considered all younger devotees of the Vast (and that was anyone under, what, six hundred years old?) to be his proteges and didn’t want them starting fights that might reflect badly on him. This made it awkward today when he’d scooped up a quartet of hikers to “enjoy” an unprotected view of a stormcloud from the inside, only to realize that one member of the group wasn’t screaming or flailing. Or needed to _breathe_. Far from any panic, his unfathomable brown eyes were steadily fixing a look on Mike that seemed to say, _Er, do you mind?_

Letting the sky take care of the hysterically shrieking prey he’d offered it, Mike dove towards the odd man out and shouted, “Will you burn me if I touch you?” It was wise to check these things. It was hard to tell someone’s alignment under these conditions, and being on relatively friendly terms with Jude Perry had taught him a lot. In theory he could use his powers to bring them both to safety hands-free, but he wasn’t used to using them for that. It wasn’t like he was in the business of _saving_ people from falling. Physical touch would make it easier to steer. 

Falling at terminal velocity didn’t seem to be causing the guy much distress, but his efforts to speak were hampered by the effects of physics on his lungs. After a few tries he simply shook his head and reached out with both hands. Mike grabbed them.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the ground again, but there was enough time for Mike to look the man over in an effort to puzzle out which entity he might have pissed off. He wasn’t covered in worms or dirt, and his anatomy seemed conventional enough. To the naked eye he seemed like an ordinary human with an unusual reaction to the situation. Tall, dark-skinned, face (okay, quite a handsome face) lined with worry but not age. His hairstyle was an undercut with the black hair on top grown out just enough for the curls to be violently ruffled by the wind. He’d had the presence of mind to do up the buttons on his long, double-breasted black wool coat within seconds, not that it had protected him from being drenched by rain. His black boots seemed securely laced, thankfully. His expression could have been anywhere from annoyed to puzzled, mixed with a definite tinge of melancholy. 

They landed as gently as Mike could manage it, and he promptly let go of the other man. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were one of those, you know…”

“Innocent people?” As he began peeling himself out of his drenched coat, his words didn’t carry any judgment. It was more like he was being self-deprecating about his own nature. “I appreciate the soft landing. My patron isn’t ready to let me die for good, but it doesn’t necessarily shield me from pain.”

The placid responses were beginning to unnerve Mike. “Are you angry?”

He shrugged, slinging the wet coat over one shoulder and sticking his hands in the pockets of his ripped dark gray jeans like he was posing for a magazine cover. “Do you have an idea of how to make it up to me, then?”

****

His name was Oliver, and he served the End. Mike felt stupid when they got back to Mike’s house and he noticed that where most people might wear a wedding ring, Oliver wore a silver ring with a tiny skull that looked like it may have been carved from real bone. Married to death. Charming.

Oliver kept fiddling with the ring as he talked. As smooth and mysterious as Oliver was in the face of mortal peril, though, he had a tendency to stammer or babble when trying to make conversation. “I don’t, I don’t really talk to people much? Mostly I dream about, well, people’s deaths, or follow the roots while I’m awake, and their quiet dread increases by my presence without them knowing why. A few times a month, though, Terminus wants me to find a specific person who is going to die soon and tell them so to their face. That’s what I was doing when you...collected me. I feel a bit like one of those dolphins getting caught in a net meant for tuna.”

Mike chuckled and showed him the bathroom. “Well, Mr. Dolphin is welcome to take a hot shower if he likes, even if he can’t catch a chill. I can’t dry your clothes like I kept myself dry, but I can give you something to wear while your own clothes dry.”

“I spent months walking along the ocean floor once, so I definitely prefer not being cold and damp if I can help it,” Oliver said, with a slight smile. He closed the door behind him. 

For the first time today - for the first time in several months, actually - a slow bloom of warmth crept up Mike’s neck. He’d thought his appreciation of Oliver’s looks was purely aesthetic, but seeing him smile was apparently enough to make a fool out of him. More of a fool, that was. This hadn’t been one of his most intelligent days. He shook his head and went to find some clothes that might fit, then put the kettle on for good measure. He was hazy on whether End avatars could eat or drink for fun the way beings like Mike did, but it seemed the thing to do.

It turned out that Oliver was too tall for him to fit in much that was suitable for Mike’s frame, but he accepted an old blue dressing gown as a supplement to the towel wrapped around his hips. The heat crept even further up Mike’s neck, and he worried irrationally that it would start showing on the pale lines of his scar. “Tea?” he asked weakly.

Oliver made no sign of noticing Mike’s inner turmoil as he took a seat on the sofa. “Two sugars, splash of milk, please.”

They didn’t talk much over the tea, and what they did talk about was trivial. Mike realized he’d spent at least two minutes describing the changes he planned to make to the wallpaper in the bedroom, and wanted to throw himself off a cliff. So much so that he trailed off.

After a few moments, Oliver put down his mug. “Mike, I wasn’t sure how to bring this up, so perhaps I should cut to it without trying to be graceful. I didn’t like the part where you tossed me around in a raincloud…”

“Again, so sorry about that.”

“...But the part where I was tumbling down, insides lurching, couldn’t speak, nothing but your hands and my trust that you were going to keep me from crashing...I’m sure it would have been different if not being able to breathe properly was painful for me, but like I said with the ocean floor thing that’s not really an issue so....” Oliver locked eyes with him. “I liked it.”

It took the words a moment to properly land in Mike’s brain. “You did?” 

“Ever since I lost my mortality, I’ve felt so much less, everything’s cold and calm and sure I get a bit nervous sometimes when I try to talk to someone beyond a few words, but nothing really serious, nothing feels strong or truly real or like there’s a point to it? You made me feel alive for a few minutes in a way I haven’t felt for a long time.” Oliver smiled. “Also, I died of satellite debris falling out of the sky onto me, before I got better that is, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some kind of connection in my head.”

“I can make you feel that way while you’re safe here next to me,” Mike offered.

“Metaphorically or literally?” Oliver asked, raising an eyebrow.

As his answer, Mike put down his barely-consumed tea and summoned the vertigo. Oliver toppled sideways and flattened himself onto the cushions, wide-eyed trembling. Ten seconds, then Mike let up. “That was the literal. Still like it?”

“Do it again,” Oliver murmured, moving closer. “Longer.”

Mike did it for longer each time, stopping periodically to confirm that Oliver was okay. Oliver, meanwhile, inched towards Mike until he ended up in Mike’s lap, sideways with his arms around his neck to cling on for dear unlife.

“You’re gorgeous like this,” Mike groaned, unable to hold back the words another moment. Oliver’s flesh was cool to the touch, but his little involuntary gasps and squirms while rubbing against him were spreading heat through Mike’s entire body. “Well, you already were, I thought so the moment I saw you, but fucking hell this is killing me. You want me to give you a break?”

Oliver mouthed “not yet”. He took Mike’s face in both hands and shakily pulled him into a breathless kiss.

*****

They stopped playing with Oliver’s equilibrium and moved to the bedroom, Oliver unsteady on his feet but beaming with the most bizarre and endearing contentment. “One would think someone from the Vast would insist on topping.”

“Damn right.” 

Oliver took the initiative to undress and lie back in the center of the bed. He beckoned with a lazy grin. “Let me guide you to your End. But only a small one, I promise.”

“What a comedian.” Mike stripped as fast as he could and climbed onto the bed to crouch over Oliver’s expectant, eager body. He hadn’t done anything requiring lube since Uni and therefore didn’t have any lying about, and besides, he didn’t want to faff around doing all the stretching and waiting it would need for Oliver to get fucked comfortably. He grabbed his trusty bottle of lotion on the nightstand instead. 

One hand wrapped around Oliver’s erection, and Oliver was trying to wrap his long legs around Mike’s waist and pull him in closer while also arching into his touch. “Will you punish me if I tell you how cute you are when you’re focusing on a task?”

Mike glared, though he didn’t stop wringing pleasure out of him. “I’m not going to give you any more vertigo right now, Ollie. I want to hear any sounds I can get from you.”

“You are a bite-sized little - ah - monster with an impressively large cock,” Oliver said dreamily. “I would hate - nn - for you to choke me on it later. How terrible that would be.”

Oliver stopped teasing Mike with sarcasm soon after Mike started teasing him with two fingers curling inside him, then three, while still pumping him with his other hand. Oliver did manage to prop himself up enough to bring their lips together, to part them and slip his tongue past Mike’s teeth. 

(There was a metaphor there, probably.)

Rather than letting him come, Mike stopped at the very last second and flopped down next to Oliver with a smirk. Oliver rolled his eyes, but crouched at the foot of the bed and sucked him down it was his real mission in life, all that End stuff just a side gig. 

“I thought you only observe death, but you're going to be the death of me," Mike hissed. “Your _mouth_...”

They came at the same time, Mike with his fingers threaded through Oliver’s soft curls, Oliver getting himself off while deepthroating with frightening intensity. 

“Are you making me feel like I’m floating?” Oliver asked, moving back up and pulling a blanket over both of them. Mike wouldn’t have stood for Oliver outright cuddling him afterwards, but lying quietly next to each other with Oliver’s hand splayed over his heart was...nice. The slight creepiness helped keep it from being too intimate. 

“Not my department, so that’s all you,” Mike said, his eyes drifting closed.


	2. Chapter 2

Oliver never slept at Mike's house, because he did much of his work in his sleep and Mike actively hosting End-related activity in his own home felt like a conflict of interest. They didn't exchange numbers or anything like that. Oliver didn't even have a phone. Despite this, he started occasionally dropping by unannounced after their first encounter. Only when Mike was home alone. How he could tell, Mike didn't really want to know.

Each time Oliver visited, he brought a small gift. The first time was a very pragmatic bottle of lube (put to use shortly after), followed by still-practical gifts of tea and alcohol. Then he brought a wallpaper scraper, which made Mike embarrassed all over again. He still couldn’t believe he’d gone on and on about remodeling until the first time Oliver took control of the conversation.

"If you start bringing me flowers, I'm not letting you in anymore," Mike grumbled, finding a place for the scraper on the cluttered coffee table.

Oliver nodded solemnly. Mike grabbed him by the belt loops and Dropped him. Sometimes if he did it abruptly enough, he could get Oliver to gasp out a laugh. Getting any noise out of him, words or not, was an achievement.

****

There was no personal gratification in how Mike treated most people he met, unlike, say, Simon’s giddy joy in ruining lives before he ended them. Mike needed his god to protect and sustain him, and he had to feed his god in return. He wasn’t some softie either, though. He had very little interest in any non-prey individuals other than a means to pass the time. Oliver was a diversion. But Mike had always pursued his hobbies with intense focus. Anything (or anyone) worth doing was worth doing right.

At present, Oliver had spent twenty minutes curled up sideways and shirtless on Mike’s lap as they both sat in an easy chair, folding his long, lean body into an “N”. He’d brought a blindfold for this visit and asked Mike to tie it on before they began. Apparently it was more intense that way. Mike was spending the time holding Oliver close and mouthing a trail of bites and hickeys all along his neck and shoulders. Pity that the End didn’t let the marks stay more than a few minutes.

“How are you doing?” Mike asked quietly, looking at Oliver’s hands. Oliver made an OK sign. He wasn’t breathing, but he had been quivering since they started.

“Do you want to think about storms?”

Thumbs-up.

So Mike touched their foreheads together and thought about storms. How he’d spent so much of his life afraid of them, then gave himself over to them and became their herald. How they brought death and destruction, yet were so very alive. Oliver shuddered. Double thumbs-up.

"Ollie, I’m going to put your mind back on solid ground, then I’m going to prep you and fuck you until you cry. Sound good?”

“Can’t cry,” Oliver said as soon as he could fully inflate his lungs. “We’ve demonstrated that I still have the capacity to beg, though.”

“Let’s go with that, then.”

****

The aftercare needs of an undead man with a detached look on life and emotions were simple enough. Oliver wanted between fifteen and twenty-five minutes of lying under a blanket next to Mike feeling Mike’s heartbeat under his palm, and a bit of smalltalk.

“The ozone scent is specific to you, right? S’nice.”

“Yeah, everyone comments on it.” He appreciated that Oliver never really asked him questions about himself, only made comments that might sometimes be question-shaped. And had never attempted to touch his scar. The last time Mike had taken an ordinary human to bed, the little fool had called it “wicked”, tried to trace it with a finger, and ended up finding out how “wicked” being pushed out the hotel room window felt. Nothing like defenestration to soothe hurt feelings.

Oliver shifted a bit closer, eyes bright in a way they only were during these moments. “Do I smell like anything in particular? Whatever it is seems to be subtle.”

Fortunately, Mike had been pondering this for some time himself, so he could answer right away. “It’s subtle. Dead roses, maybe a hint of sea salt.”

“Mm. Not bad. Nathaniel just smells like dust.”

“He’s another End guy?”

“Mm hm. He’s not chatty, but we sometimes meet up for card games that he almost always wins.” Oliver looked wistful. “Annabelle Cane shows up sometimes to gossip in my direction. Dunno if it’s because the Mother has plans for me or whether Annabelle finds my patience and neutrality convenient. Or both. The Web, am I right?”

“Right.” Mike felt around underneath his pillow for stray spiders, just in case.

“Other than them and you, I haven’t had any friends since I had a dramatic meltdown at my accounting firm.”

Mike didn’t feel like examining his own lack of friends either. He’d collaborated with Jude Perry on a plane exploding in midair, and Simon was generous with money and advice if Mike was willing to praise his oil paintings and listen to his cheerful nihilism, but Mike didn’t have much in the way of people to simply relax with. Instead of bringing any of that up, he laughed. “You were an _accountant_?”

“Don’t say it,” Oliver warned, sitting up.

“I guess that makes sense because…”

“DON’T SAY IT.”

“Death and…” Mike’s giggly “taxes” was muffled from Oliver pretending to smother him with a pillow. As if anyone could ever really smother one of the Vast’s chosen.

****

_Too-Close-I-Cannot-Breathe_

_Too-Close-I-Cannot-Breathe_

_Even-If-I-Don’t-Have-Mortal-Breathing-Needs-I-Do-Not-Like-This_

_TOO-CLOSE-I-CANNOT_

How long since Mike had woken up in heavy darkness, pressed tightly on all sides and with a dull ache in his chest? His sense of touch told him that he wasn’t in a proper coffin, which meant his burial had been sloppy, possibly even shallow. Which meant he should be able to dig himself out, right?

But the Vast was unable to reach him here, unable to take him into its loving embrace and lift him up to safety and wholeness. Without it, he was only a small, slight man, weak from a lack of fear (other than his own) to absorb. He scrabbled at the earth until his fingernails cracked and fingertips bled. When he tried to scream, dirt fell into his mouth, threatening to choke him. Unlike Oliver, it seemed Mike was not too far gone from human to cry.

Then he heard a noise that made him stifle his sobs. A spade. Someone was digging.

He started crying again when the first light broke through and he saw who’d rescued him. Oliver’s face was in a tight, worried frown, and he tossed away the spade the moment the hole was big enough to haul Mike out and gently place him on the grass. Mike spent the next few minutes spitting out soil and trying to get it out of his hair. Oliver crouched beside him the whole time, making soft noises of reassurance and rubbing his back in slow circles. When Mike had calmed down, Oliver gave him a thermos of his favorite tea and a damp flannel to clean his face.

“Fucking Hunter was after the fucking Archivist, I didn’t do shite to her,” Mike wheezed.

“The Hunt doesn’t care about collateral damage,” Oliver said. He kissed Mike’s forehead for the first time ever - though there had been instances of the other way around when Oliver was playing at being especially adorable and helpless. “Annabelle told me as much. I don’t know why she cared, but she knew why I would. I knew you couldn’t be dead yet. I would have seen it in advance.”

“Don’t tell me I owe the Web a debt.”

“If you do, She will tell you herself. You don’t owe me anything, though.”

The forest floor wasn’t a comfortable place to be trying to pull himself together. Mike still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up in Oliver’s lap for once, but it felt secure in a way he really needed right now. “I’m not sure if I should stay in the country. Hunters don’t like unfinished business. If that mad dog finds out I survived...”

Oliver made a sort of regretful hum. “Didn’t you mention stalking people in France sometimes? I like France. Maybe I could visit you there.”

“Maybe.” Mike growled in frustration when he tried and failed to stand. “I need to take in a lot of fear to get back to normal, but I can’t stalk anyone like this.”

“On my way here, there was a trio of wildlife poachers who are scheduled to die today by falling out of tall trees. My vision didn’t specify what was going to lead them to fall out of those trees.” Oliver gave him a small, hopeful smile.

Mike imagined the screams of people plummeting from trees that had grown ridiculously, impossibly high. His skin tingled at the thought. “That might do it. Where?”

“I’ll show you.” Oliver scooped him up into a bridal carry, raising an eyebrow at his squawk of indignation. “Hush, pride goes before a fall.”

“I’ll get you for that.” As soon as his eyelids stopped drooping.

“I’m looking forward to it. Keep your eyes closed. I’m going to follow the Corpse Routes instead of the standard three dimensions to get to them faster, and it would be very disturbing for anyone not used to it.”

(Mike absolutely did not fall asleep in Oliver’s arms. He was following instructions. That was all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nominate that this ship be called Terminal Velocity.


End file.
